Sergei Yesenin

The Day Is Gone, The Line Diminished

The day is gone, the line diminished, And I again edge to the exit. With a slight sweep of the white finger I cut through the secret of ages. In the blue stream of my fate The cold scum beats and froths, And the seal of mute bondage Adds a new wrinkle near the puckered lip. With each day I become more estranged To myself, and to whom life has bid so. Somewhere in the field, by the barrier, I tore my shadow from my body. Undressed, it went away, Taking my bent shoulders with it, It is somewhere farther off, Tenderly hugging another. Perhaps, bowing to him, It has completely forgotten about me And, fixedly staring into the ghostly murk, Altered the folds around the lips and mouth. But it lives by the sound of past years, As an echo, wandering beyond the mountains. With blue lips I kiss The portrait bound by a black shadow.

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